The Savage Shark Chronicles
The Whisper
After the death of Warmaster Horus, the traitor legions retreat to the Eye of Terror.
During the exodus, rogue Astarties seek to avenge their beloved Warmaster. Can the newly appointed Captain, Sharranous, lead the Sons of Horus 17th Company to victory or will he lead them into oblivion?
~ Dramatis Personae ~
Traitors
Legion:
Sons of Horus 1st Company
Abbaddon1st Company Captain of the Sons of Horus
Sons of Horus 17th Company
Julius Rane 17th Company Captain
Sharranous 'The Savage' 21st Squad Sergeant
Cyrus 17th Company 21st Squad: Daemonic Possessed warrior
Tykus 21st Squad: Marksman
Clotten 'The Heavy' 21st Squad: Heavy Bolter Gunner
Tyler 'Smiles' 21st Squad: Melee specialist
Kran 'Burning Blood' 21st Squad: Melee specialist
Oloth Warrior of 17th Company: Daemonic Possessed warrior
Darloth 17th Company: Warrior
Eredon 17th Company: Warrior
Sons of Horus Star ship
Nobel Brute
Angos Carreon Captain of the Nobel Brute
Chainn Archimedes 1st officer of the Nobel Brute
Loyalists
Imperial Guard
Dante Alegari 131st regiment Imperial Guardsman Private 2nd class
Michael Hawk 131st regiment Imperial Guardsman Private 1st class
Kim Erra 131st regiment Imperial Guardsman Sergeant
Fredrick Attican 140th regiment Imperial Guardsman Sergeant
Introduction
Long ago, previous to the Civil War, humanity had stretched into the vastness of the Segmentum Solar. Divided and scattered, many worlds thrived outside the reach of their birth rock, Terra.
But it was from Terra that a visionary arose and became known as the Emperor. After uniting the planet under his rule, the Emperor set out to enfold the rest of humanity into what would be known as the Imperium of Man.
To accomplish this goal, the Emperor created the Astarties: genetically enhanced super soldiers. Equipped with the most powerful weapons these star warriorswere known throughout the galaxy as the Space Marines.
Though an impressive and dominating figure, the Emperor knew he could not lead so many Space Marines across the galaxy. So he crafted twenty super humans from his own genetic code. Each would lead a Legion of Astarties across the galaxy to deliver the Imperium law to the divided worlds. These twenty were the Primarchs, revered commanders second only to the Emperor.
But before the Emperor's Reunification Crusade had begun, his twenty children were captured. Scattered and lost throughout the galaxy during their infancy. Left with little choice, the Emperor set out with a handful of star ships carrying in their holds twenty Companies of one thousand Space Marines.
Without the aid of his generals, the Emperor began his quest of reuniting humanity under his banner.
In time, the Emperor soon found twenty worlds which had already been subjugated by a powerful warlord. When the Emperor left his command ship to meet these warrior kings in their fortresses the war lords soon realized they were stairing into the eyes of their gene father.
In time the twenty Primarchs were reunited with their father and modified into the mighty Astarties legion.
Without doubt or hesitation the Primarchs swore allegiance to their Father, the Emperor. Utilizing the knowledge gained from their home worlds the Primarchs set out too accomplish their father's mission: reuniting the whole of mankind into the Imperium.
Centuries passed. The Primarchs and their Astarites Legions successfully brought the defiant human worlds to compliance. Yet their Crusade was not limited to the lost human colonies. The Legions encountered hordes of alien creatures, each one more disgusting and horrific as the last. They were easily defeated by the tactical prowess of the Space Marines and the inspiring presence of their Primarch.
As the Crusade expanded the Emperor promoted his favored son, Horus, to Warmaster giving him sole command over his brother Primarchs and their legion. The Emperor returned to Terra in order to research and understand the mysterious realm known as the Warp, which had been the Imperiums main source of interstellar travel.
Without the looming shadow of his father beside him, Horus set out to conquer world after world in his own fashion.
For a thousand years, Horus successfully conquered new worlds while commanding his brother Primarchs with an iron hand. He had been born to lead troops into battle and he, above all his brothers, excelled at it.
But then, on the distant world of Istvaan III, Horus had set in motion a plan to destroy the Imperium and dethrone the Emperor.
But Horus was no foul. He knew the undertaking would not be enough with just his legion. He needed allies.
He watched his brother Primarchs squabbled with one another and listened to their deepest desires through quiet confessions and whispers in the dark. Many of them had grown tired of the restrictions set upon their Legion by the Emperor.
Promised the freedom from their 'shackles' a few of the Primarchs joined with the Warmaster and set out to test their combative skills against those who still sided with their Father. These Traitors united under the command of the fiercest of Primarchs supported by Legions who held such tenacity for war they were shunned by their Loyalist brothers with distaste. This was the beginning of a new strife for humanity. This was the birth of a war which turned brother against brother and set the galaxy a flame. This was the birth of the Horus Heresy.
Part I:
The Choice
He fell to his knees.
His eyes stared into the void.
His mouth let out a wordless cry.
I
The Savages / Terra Hope / He Dies
"Ironic." Thought Sharranous. Eons ago the Legions of Horus had set out on a quest to reunite the galaxy with the might and prowess of the Astarties. Now they were on Terra, birth rock of mankind, and they brought the rule of Horus to the Imperium. No longer would they carry the false ideals of the Emperor.
A new revelation was underway and Sharranous was proud to be apart of it.
A voice whispered in Sharannous' mind, "Ironic Indeed, Lord Savage."
The Whisper had first spoken to him during Istvaan III. It seemed to be, some what, of a compatriot to the Sergeant. The Whisper had saved his life, on many occasions. First on Istvaan III, when the voice shouted the command: 'Duck!' The Sergeant's response was reflexive as he avoided the deadly swing of a power sword from behind. At first he thought of it as a second instinct, the will of his Primarch guiding him through the gene seed implant. 'No, nothing so absurd as that.' This voice, this…entity, was more than just instinct or a Primarch's will. It had become an invisible companion.
During his time aboard the 17th Companies flagship, Nobel Brute, Sharranous would pace about his chambers arguing with the whisper. If not for the lobotomized servitors and fearful crew serfs, they would have reported the warrior's rants as madness. Day and night he would argue about tactical maneuvers, kill methods, and more often than not: the very presence of Whisper in his mind.
Sharranous did not like having a taunting voice at his ear for eternity. Especially, during his first command, Whisper deceived the Sergeant into sending his first squad into an ambush staged by the enemy on Istvaan III. The Whisper had argued that his 'selection' was unsuited for 'their' needs. In the end Sharranous reluctantly succumbed to the choices of Whisper. It had seen through the genetic enhanced eyes of the Sergeant and heard through the conspiring tales of corners and ship serfs of the most suited warriors 'they' would command.
Cyrus was the first choice. A young unblemished warrior whose mane of oil black hair framed his perfect features as it draped over his barreled chest. Though untouched by war, his face carried the scribed marking of his birth rock Cthonia.
It was not his perfect complexion that made the youth stand out. Cyrus had been one of many within the Traitor Legions to host a Daemon within their body and soul. Daemons are living products of their immortal patrons which ruled from the corrupting universe known as theWarp.
Only a skilled Sorcerer could summon a daemon without consequence to himself. From the essence of the Warp the daemon was bonded within a physical realm. These monstrosities were utilized amongst the Traitors armaments, from the weapons wielded by the Space Marines to the mighty war machines and starships.
Cyrus had bonded with a daemon born from the entity that preyed on the secret desires of mortal minds. This entity named itself Slaanessh, one of the four Chaos patrons which ruled from the Warp. Supernatural powers of the daemon empowered by the enhancements of Cyrus become a symbiotic predator of war.
Kran was next. Though the Whisper did not approve of this choice, Sharranous had argued that it was his squad to command and he would have a trusted battle brother. Kran and Sharranous fought along side during the Great Crusade, fighting together as initiates on a hundred worlds.
As Initiates, they lacked the genetic enhancements the Astarites relied on as well as the magnificent power armor. Forced to rely on their battle brothers and their tactical prowess, they endured trial by fire and blood against aliens and humans. Recognition from their piers earned them privilege of the title Astarties.
Kran was a fearsome fighter up close. His chain axe cleaved through countless enemies. He had been known as Burning Blood after his attack against a fortification of hostiles armed with flamer weapons scorched the beads and hairs of his beard. But not before he had dyed his beard in their blood.
Tykus, the master marksman, was the eldest of the squad. His saved head proudly displayed two metal bolts implanted in his skull. Each bolt signified a century of service for an Astarties. His left eye replaced, by his wish, for an optic implant allowing better tactical observations on the field. The implant framing had been modified into a symbiotic merging to his skull. The lens was a glossy yellow orb, a black iris slit focused the world around it as it rolled around the socket, as if of independent will.
Though an elder brother Tykus never earned the honor of becoming a Sergeant or a Captain, yet all envied his skill with a Bolter.
Then there was Clotten, the Heavy.
Clotten was a fearsome thing. Amongst the crisscrossing scars and skin grafts of his face rested a monstrous visage. His surgically crafted teeth were like needles protruding out from his jaws. His serpent like tongue swayed like a caged worm behind the mandibles. He had ordered the surgeons to remove his lips, allowing his new features to move about without resistance. To compensate for the slur of his speech, the surgeons installed a vox caster into his throat which would project his voice over the bark of his weapon.
Clotten was a wild beast in power armor. After taking part in the Heresy he adorned his armor with trophies and decorations denied him in the past. The power pack of his armor had been crafted with black iron spears, which now carried his trophies of past encounters. Amongst his treasures were severed limbs and heads, including the war helms of Astarte Loyalists.
The Heavy Bolter he wielded bore the scars obtained throughout the Crusades. The outer casing had been crafted into a daemonic skull whose gapping maw engulfed the massive barrel of the weapon. Those closest to Clotten believed the weapon itself coughed the explosive rounds from the Warp, rather than his ammunition belt. At the beginning of the Heresy the weapon had been bonded with a daemon of the blood god, Khorne. The daemon drove weapon and wielder into a bloody frenzy with every kill. They cared not from where the blood flowed, so long as there was blood to slake their thirst.
Finally, there was Tyler.
Along with Kran, he and Sharranous served together before the civil war as Initiates. It was then when Tyler had earned the name 'Smiles' during his initiation. Before, during and after a campaign Tyler would smile revealing perfect white teeth. This had not changed, despite the Space Marine's favoritism of close combat. Even during exercise in the dueling cages aboard the Nobel Brute Tyler never lost a single tooth. Despite the blows he sustained his perfect smile remained. This had turned the stomach of Sharranous, during their sparing. He would try to shatter the teeth anyway he could but to no avail. Eventually, having gained honor through devotion, Sharranous would tolerate those "perfect" teeth.
This was the 21st Savage squad, a unit Sharranous was proud to lead against the enemies of Horus. There were many great and fearsome warriors amongst other Legions, but they did not have his chosen.
The Sol star was setting in the distance, casting the last of its golden glow across the burning city. The fires choked the skies with thick plumes of coal black smog as Squad Savage advanced through the ruined bulwarks of Hope, a hive city. Hope, like many cities of Terra, was built atop another city. These cities linked together in a massive artistically crafted web of trader roads, railways and reinforced arches which all connected to a massive golden structure, the Palace Holy. Built into the Himalayan Mountains the Palace Holy was an enormous pyramid of gold and silver. Etchings of ancient deeds glistened across its magnificent surface. The wonder of mankind reached beyond the heavens and glistened with unimaginable perfection atop mountains, even its radiant glow pierced through the depressing gloom of the clouds.
Since the rebellion, much of the holy architecture had been removed or buried. Beneath weapon works and iron curtain walls the majestic Palace was transformed into a mighty Fortress. Orbital guns, the largest ever built by the Imperium, perched like gargoyles around the walls. Scores of smaller weapons tracked for targets at its base. This was where he ruled, the Emperor, the lord of all mankind.
Sharranous spat in disgust as he surveyed the golden structure. Miles away, he could see bright flares of distant weapons firing into the falling darkness. Through the discord of war, he heard the familiar blood howl of an Astarties warrior. He turned to its origin. Within the veil of dusk he found the silhouette of a warrior standing amongst the ruins of a city block. Were it not for the optics of his helmet, the warrior would appear a part of the ruin. Arms spread wide, the warrior raised a fearsome chain axe in one hand the severed head of a Loyalist in the other. Sharranous soon heard the follow up chant of other Astarties behind him, each colored in the tanned grey of the Sons of Horus Legion. Painted on the right shoulders of the warriors was a great black eye surrounded by an eight pointed star. This was the same insignia which squad Savage displayed with pride, signifying them as members of the Sons of Horus Legion.
Amongst the marching Legions, Sharranous found warriors from the other Legions, who sided with the Warmaster. The color and décor of their power armor set them apart from the paled green and black trim of the Sons of Horus.
Like a tide the Traitors charged against the Emperor and his loyalist forces.
But the Space Marines did not fight alone. The Astarties, though still a superior warrior, relied heavily on their more advanced weapons of war. The most impressive and feared of all weapons in the Imperium is the Legio Titanicus. Massive, towering, war machines forged from the factoriums of Mars. Titans are the most destructive force to have been conceived by the Techpriests. A towering walker whose weapons equal those in the fleet, are controlled by the thoughts of its pilot. A machine god bred for war followed alongside the Warmaster in Legions.
It is still unknown how Horus swayed so many of his Primarch brothers to his cause. Nevertheless, they were here now. Their war ships brought ruination to the massive machine works of Mars and decimating the Luna star port.
The Loyalists were out numbered by the Traitors. Yet they still faced the ferocious Blood Angles, the hardened Imperial Fists and the speed of the White Scars. Still loyal to the Emperor, fighting beside the Space Marines, were regiments of the Imperial Guard. The Guardsmen, though unequal to the Emperor and his Space Marines, were humans. Humans who, believed in the ideas of the Imperium and the guidance of their lord, fought with bravery and resilience against a hordes of betrayers and mutineers.
Before the Civil War, the Guardsmen had been deployed to compliant worlds suppressing riots and ensuring the compliance of the populace. Many had fought besides Astarties during the crusades, revering the finest of the Emperor's soldiers.Yet, they never dreamed of defending Terra from the very same Astarties. Reports had been stated that Imperial Guardsmen had also joined with the Traitors. This gross betrayal had planted caution within the thoughts of both Space Marine and Guardsman forces.
Traitors fought Loyalist. Bolters barked in their hands, Las Guns lit up the night, chain blades chewed into another, curses and insults spat into the air as armored fists clashed against face plates.
Blood sprayed.
Battle cries echoed across the cities, cries of pain and humiliation filled the skies, and heraldry banners swayed in the cacophony of the conflict as the roads quaked under the rumble of war machines.
Las Cannons lanced searing beams of energy through the night. Blossoms of white fire bloomed from demolished transports. Burning arches of promethium Flamers snaked through the air igniting where ever they touched. Barrels of Bolters coughed exploding rounds like flashing Aldis lamps. The energized Void shields of war Titans popped like bubbles as the defensive batteries rained down into the war machines, igniting the towering walkers in brilliance. Their ruined frames collapsed to the earth with ear splitting descent, kicking clouds of ash into the air, chocking the throats of eyes of the human forces. But not the tactical sensors of the Astarties war helms.
It had been the first day of combat, '…and it is a good start,' thought Sharranous.
Fifteen days had passed and neither side capitulated. Like their Primarchs, Space Marines were capable of fighting on through day and night without rest. Their genetic modifications allowed for a portion of their brains to reach rem sleep while they consciously fought on. The Traitors never stopped advancing. Never digging in to simply hold their ground, they just kept coming. Piles of the dead from both sides littered the streets the like discarded waste they were. Blood and flesh matter decorated the power armor of the advancing traitors. Transport and assault vehicles took up the dead remains of Loyalists chaining them to their hulls as trophies. Helmets and severed skulls were mounted upon spikes along the surfaces of the vehicles as well as the power packs of the Astarties.
Sharranous carried the skulls of his enemies around his belt in metallic weave nettings. Their flesh burned away leaving the scorched bone for his pleasure. Clotten had adorned his Heavy Bolter with several trinkets held by black iron chains. A skull from a fallen enemy mounted on the support grip of the weapon, the gauntlet of a foolish Traitor who walked in front of his weapon bounced along the weapons casing as he jogged behind.
They advanced along a ruined road, bodies and rubble poured out like spilt waste. Behind them advanced several of their brothers within the Sons of Horus, supported by convoys of various vehicle types: Rhino Transports, Land Raiders Assault craft, Daemonic Engines of War and assault bikes. They quickly pushed their way through the defending lines of Loyalist. The Traitor had no regard for their own safety as they charged over the barricades with ferocity. Their only quest was to achieve victory for the Warmaster and take the palace by any means.
"By any means." CoachedWhisper.
Sergeant Sharranous was ferocious with his strikes. Every swing of his chain sword cut into Ceramite power armor and flesh. The aroma of fresh blood and ripped flesh was tantalizing for him. The taste of it on his senses drove his battle lust, his power armor strengthening his every strike.
Cyrus had taken on a disturbing passion with his attacks. He bounded from one defender after another with speeds that even most Astarties could not follow. More than once he had deceived the enemy into killing one of their own, either as a miss fire or a betraying stab of a combat knife. In the end Cyrus had deceived the enemy into killing itself. Once their numbers were diminished he would deliver the killing blow.
Kran was not as elegant or swift as the Daemon host. He savored the killing of an opponent face to face. His armor was dabbed in blood and flesh matter only after making planet fall. Even the beads along his braided beard were caked with his enemies' remains.
Tykus had taken position amongst the ruins of a structure. His finely crafted Bolter bore the engravings of skulls running along its side casing, the symbols of victorious campaigns. His augmented eye pierced through the scope of his Bolter and indicated the targets bobbing from their cover. He timed each one of his targets based on their pattern and fired a single Bolt into the temporal lobe of his targets. Each shot had been fired at such speed Sharranous mistook it for the rapid fire setting of the Bolter. Tykus returned to his cover and reloaded the weapon as Sharranous approached along side the rubble.
"As ever, your marksmanship is impressive Tykus." Sharranous voice was like a snarl as it translated through the voice filter of his skull helmet. Tykus nodded the acceptance of the Sergeants' appreciation as the rest of squad Savage joined at the ruins. From the roads, coming from the squads left, a rhino of the VI Company advanced. The transport rolled over the dead with a daemonic roar of hunger. Alongside ran the Space Marines of the Sons of Horus. Just as they passed beyond the rubble, they were gunned down by heavy weapons fire. The Rhino, in a roar of defiance, fired his mounted Havoc launcher. The missiles screaming through the sky as they crashed with an explosion of warp fire. Their target was a massive Iron curtain wall and it did not tumble under the attack. The Rhino was struck atop its canopy by a searing Lascannon. The beam penetrated the armor plating and pierced the engine and fuel lines sending the Rhino into a bloom of hateful warp fire. The daemon which was bonded within the vehicle was freed from its prison and sent back screaming to the realm of Chaos.
Cyrus and his daemonic host cringed as they felt the Rhinos' host disperse. "Filthy Loyalist scum, I will rip out their still beating hearts!" Like a lion ready to pounce, he was preparing to run out in a wild fury, but Clotten quickly placed his gauntlet on the young warriors arm reeling him back. Cyrus turned in anger towards Clotten, but the emotion melted away as his warp burning eyes met the onyx black orbs of Clotten. His scared features were pinched into a damning scowl at Cyrus and Clotten only shook his head as though he were punishing a young child.
Sharranous ignored the stripling and turned to Tykus who was staring intently beyond the edge of his cover. "Can you get a bearing, Tykus?"
Without a word, Tykus turned to face where the fire had originated and brought his good eye over the rubbles edge.
Two Imperial bunkers were built into the ground, with their firing slits covering the roads. Behind which stood the massive iron curtain wall, barricading the hive roads along the level and reaching into the segment above masking the golden majesty of the Palace. Within the iron workings of the barricade were ornamented carvings of Space Marines, hooded and looking down at their defenders with compassion. Between the bunkers was a massive twin doorway, blood red and lined with gold and at the center a massive twin headed eagle with one head blind and the other gazing into the future: the symbol of the Imperium. Between the Bunkers were lines of razor wire and sandbags, behind which were Imperial Guardsmen, aiming down the road with their Lasguns. It was then Tykus discovered the source of the Lascannon that destroyed the Rhino. Three automated weapons arched over iron door like an ever watchful eagle. They scanned left and right for movement.
A trail of Heavy Bolter rounds rained over his position. Tykus pulled back behind his cover and readied his Bolter. The firing from the bunkers ceased as the gunners reloaded. Turning on his heel, Tykus stood to his full height. Aiming through the sights of his Bolter he fired a single shot at the mounted weapons along the curtain. He fired the remaining rounds of his Bolter into the Imperial Guardsmen who stood behind the sandbags. Each shot ripped through their armored chests in crimson mist. They died before firing a shot and screaming in agony as their comrades in the bunkers struggled to ready the heavy weapons. As Tykus fired the last round of his clip, he removed and discarded the scythe clip for a new one. Turning on his heel, Tykus returned to the safety of the rubble as the bunkers fired down the road. It was easy for Tykus to count the rounds of the enemy's weapons and calculate the time they needed to reload. Using the delay he could destroy the tracking eyes of the Lascannons along the wall. The explosive tip from his bolts would not be enough too destroy the weapons completely, but he could render the machine spirits within the weapons blind and dumb.
Tykus turned to his sergeant as he reloaded his Bolter. "Two bunkers, a Heavy Bolter in each, Imperial Guardsmen, ten in each."
Sharranous grinned behind his helmet and turned to his squad. "Cyrus, draw their fire. Tykus let us know when they reload."
No sooner had he given the order than Cyrus was gone. Like an acrobatic spider, Cyrus bounded off the structures along the road.
"A light post, no the building on the left, no the shrine ruins there...there damn it!" Cried the spotter.
"Make up your mind, damn it!" Retorted the gunner.
With each leap he forced the cowardly Guardsmen too waste ammo, shooting shadows and echoes. His super natural hearing could make out the worried cries of the humans inside their bunker. They bickered and barked at one another trying to find him.
Tykus listened intently to the number of rounds. The cough of the weapons was almost symphonic. The weapon was almost empty when he turned to his Sergeant and nodded.
"Go!"
Like a spear tip the squad shot forward from cover. They ran along the ruins of the street, chain blades growling to life. Sharranous, Kran, Tyler and Tykus fired their weapons into the firing slits of the bunkers. Leaping into formation, Cyrus trotted on all fours like a ravenous predator on the hunt.
"Ten seconds!" Tykus howled over the Vox systems of the squad. The gunners were reloading. He fired a round into each of the bunkers, the rounds detonating in the heads of the gunners in a blast of crimson and bone matter.
'I'll not let them deny me. They will die.' Thought Sharranous.
'Then you should hurry, Savage. Tykus cannot kill them all in time.'
'Silence!' He rebuked the Whisper.
He placed the pistol back in its holster and reached for the frag grenade around his belt. Kran and Tyler followed his example. They primed the charge on a delayed setting.
Sharranous howled like a hungry lion as he reeled his arm back, "For the Warmaster!" He tossed the grenade through the air without breaking his stride. Kran and Tyler joined in praise of Horus as they tossed their charges in kind.
The Guard struggled preparing their Heavy Bolters as enemy fire rained over their ears. Their hands danced and juggled the components and ammunition belts into the weapon. Their Sergeants bellowed orders to the rest of the units to fire at the Traitors, at once the bunkers were alit with Lasgun flares. The beams splashed across the Astarties armor with little damage. Though powerful, their weapons were ineffective against the powered armor of a Space Marine. Their only true power lay in a high powered shot at medium range, but the Traitors were too far out for such a shot. Only the quick repeated fire of the weapons had a chance of hitting the enemy. So the weapons only annoyed the Astarties.
Finally, the Heavy Bolters were rearmed and the Imperial gunners pulled back at the firing pin, loading a fresh Bolt into the chamber. The gunners took aim down their sights, the Traitors were going for the center of the two bunkers, but they were well in the killing field and their armor would not withstand the repeated fire of the Heavy Bolter.
A loud explosion came from the left bunker. The gunner on the right was caught off focus when he heard the explosion and the pain fueled cries that followed. He turned and found the structure was belching black smoke and could make out faint flares of fire from inside. The heavy weapon there had gone silent and the roar of the Traitors was coming closer.
"Fire, Damn you!" came the Sergeant. The gunner rotated the weapon on its mount only to find a pair of grenades drop and roll at his feet. Before the warning could be given the two metallic potatoes exploded at the Guards feet.
The Frag grenades erupted in fire and shrapnel, the interior was a dizzying void of thick grey smoke and fire. The Sergeant coughed and gagged from the fire in his lungs. He tasted blood on his lips and his legs felt heavy. He crawled towards a stone hallway built underground, linking them to the garrisoned forces on the opposite side of the Iron Curtain. The smoke had barely made it through the corridor as the Sergeant crawled towards a thick metallic door. Bolted shut from the other side, the Sergeant would have to warn the Guardsmen on the other side of what transpired. A Vid screen rested at the wall adjacent the door, the Sergeant had to rise up and contact the guard behind the door. He pushed himself on his knees, finding that his legs were gone, he struggled to pull himself up in view of the Screen and the camera implanted into the device. He latched his hands around the console, failing to pull himself up. His hands were blown off at the wrist, a loud bang echoing through the room. He fell like a doll to the hard floor, the pain failing too register in his mind. He turned where the shot originated and found the towering form of an Astarties approach him. Its skull faced helm leered at him with murder as he approached. It stood before his face, the gems of its helmet admiring him like a cat to a mouse. It tilted its head as if studying his ruined body. The Sergeant tried to spit at the Traitor in a final act of defiance, but his throat was still dry from the grenades explosion. Then, the warrior reset its head, brought its massive boot over his face and crushed the skull under its weight.
The ground shattered under the weight of Sergeant Sharranous' boot. It cried though cracks as he turned his foot through the bloody brain matter under his foot. The kill was not to his liking, but it still sent a smile to his face. He looked away from the kill and found where the Sergeant was reaching. He approached the door and ran his gauntlet finger along its edges, examining the hinges and bolts supporting it to the structure.
Sharranous opened his Vox channel.
"Tykus, are there any survivors in the other bunker."
"No, brother sergeant, all targets destroyed."
"Are there any with their faces intact?"
"One or two, brother Sergeant. Why?"
"Bring it."
Private Dante Alegari leaned against the rockcrete wall. His Ihllo stick and a flickering glow globe over head were his only light source. His Lasgun rested at his side as a small shower of dust spilt from the cracks in the ceiling. He heard the muted noise of weapons fire behind the door. 'Another mark on the wall.' He thought. The thickness of the door had prevented the full cacophony of what transpired a secret. The door had been built for resisting the most powerful detonations. It was haunting that any noise from outside could be heard at all, if any.
He sighed in boredom.
He was stationed at the bunker entrance for ten hours now. He had finished reading his book twice and was on his last ihllo stick. It was crucial that the doorway be monitored at all times. The iron curtain outside had too be guarded on both sides, allowing convoys of Guardsmen and Loyalist to travel safely through the gates.
Even so, he was still bored. He enlisted in hopes of seeing the universe like his father before him, but because of the bastard son Horus he was stuck here on guard duty.
A knock came from the door. It was not the secure knock he was given by the Sergeant, but still it sounded urgent…as urgent as knocks go, thought Dante.
He threw the Ihllo stick to the ground and stomped it out with his regulation boot. Taking his Lasgun in hand he went for the door.
"Dante…" came a voice behind him.
He turned and saw his training comrade, Michael, coming up around the corner of the tunnel. He turned and smiled at the site of his friend.
"Sarg sent me to relieve you, mate."
Dante sighed with relief, thanking the powers that be for relieving him of this lame ass job. He walked towards the corner and made his way to the command center, hungry for the regulation rations and a chance to sleep in his cot. "Cheers, Mick. Oh, uh someone's knocking on the door."
"They why don't you answer it?" replied Michael.
Dante turned and gave a mocking smile as he turned the corner, "Not my job anymore." With a playful smile and a wave of his free hand, he was gone.
Michael sighed and cursed Dante under his breath as a lazy bastard. He turned and approached the door as another knock came from the door, agitated and demanding as knocks go.
"Yeah, yeah I hear ya. Keep your damn pants on, sir."
Michael went to the security monitor at the wall. Entering the security codes the small monitor blinked on. Through the noise filled picture he made out the military features of the 5th squad Sergeant.
He pressed the key for the Vox, "I read you Sargeant Erra, I'm opening the door standby."
With several key strokes, Michael deactivated the complex locks along the doorway. He holstered the Lasgun over his shoulder as the large cogwheel turned. The door let out a loud thud, the locks pulled back into the workings. Michael placed an Ihllo stick in his mouth, lighting the tip as the massive door slowly swung open. He stood there with a smile, hoping to please his superior. The smile melted away as he found the towering form of an Astarties hefting a massive Heavy Bolter, its barrel shaped inside a horrific maw of a daemon. The weapon barked several rounds sending his body into a dance. Michael had been reduced to shredded gore leaving only two regulation boots where he stood.
Clotten coughed a laugh from the vox in his throat. He took point as he marched down the rest of the corridor with his weapon at the ready. His brothers followed one at a time, their armor bulk taking up the confines of the interior. Tykus followed behind The Heavy, with Tyler, Kran, and Cyrus. Sharranous waited, and turned to the firing slits of the bunker. He blinked the ruin symbol of his visor to the company channel.
"Captain Rane, this is Squad Savage reporting."
The icon of the 17th Captain blinked in his vision followed by the Captains' static growl "Report, Sergeant."
"We have accessed entry to Curtain 57-8b. Outer defenses are neutralized, we need but draw back the curtain."
"Excellent, Sergeant. The Iron Warriors are in route with their armored divisions. Secure the area for their arrival."
"It will be done, my Captain." He drew his Bolt Pistol and armed the chamber.
"Death to the False Emperor." Replied the Captain.
Sharranous turned and entered the hallway. The sounds of Clottens' Heavy Bolter echoed through the hallway, along with the frantic cries of Guardsmen. "And all his Slaves."
The fight was over before it started. The squad Savage had successfully butchered the frail Guardsmen in less than 5 minutes.
Cyrus let the daemonic lust slice into the Guardsmen that slept during the assault, turning their barracks into an abattoir. After which he emerged with a satisfied smile, licking his forearm as some wild cat after a successful kill.
Kran and Tyler butchered and hacked their way through the outpost. Tossing Guardsmen remains into their attackers with ferocity. Their attacks were like barbarous warriors of Pre Imperia as they hacked into the enemy.
Clotten fired round after round into the Guardsmen who tried hiding behind their fortifications. He only laughed at their pitiful constructs as the warp fire of his daemon weapon ate through everything in its path. Not once had Clotten reloaded the weapon during the attack.
Tykus stood beside his Sergeant who went to operate the mechanics of the curtain wall. With controlled bursts he beheaded anyone who dared get close or looked in their direction. The door systems shut down. The enormous blood iron barricades retracted from the door. With whining gears and hydraulics the titanic door slid open.
Like a flood of glistening steel, the armored convoy of the Iron Warriors poured in. Vehicles of all classification stormed through in a column formation. Pin mounted weapons swung around firing at the stragglers, never pausing in their charge. The demoralized Guardsmen, unable to hold back the flood, turn and ran from the Traitors. Few were able to avoid the heavy tread transports and their guns, but not the ravenous bike squads which roared from the door. The Iron Warriors drove through the retreating ranks, slicing their chain blades in lightning fast swings into the frail bodies, taking down the running humans before they could get any farther.
Sharranous stood and watched the magnificent convoy of war machines roar past. Even a War Hound class Titan followed amongst the endless column. Sharranous later discovered that other colors were amongst the Iron Warriors convoy: Thousand Sons and the Sons of Horus. A Rhino Tranport rolled from the convoy and stopped in front of the squad. The rear embarkation ramp lowered.
Sharranous visor blinked the ruin icon of the driver. "Brother Sergeant, Captain Rane has sent me to escort you."
Sharranous did not mute his communication from the rest of the squad, "To where, pilot?"
"To the Palace, Brother Sergeant."
Thirty days of fighting.
Each side taking loses.
The planet had been transformed into a gruesome shadow of his former glory.
Thirty days of fighting and he stood upon the grounds of the Palace Holy. The sight of it up close appalled him more than he imagined. His brothers had died for a cause built upon a lie. A lie which would have humanity and Astarties ignore the truth in the universe. There were subtle clues to the Emperors' misguiding, but none Sharranous witnessed, it was all hear say from his brothers and the Primarch. He never met the Emperor in his life, only what was told through legends and the myths. How he was a living god, a shining example of Humanities promises.
'Lies!' shouted the Whisper. The Whisper appalled by the thought of the Emperor being recognized as a god. 'He is no god!'
'You get no argument from me.' Agreed Sharranous.
The Emperor had forced loyalty from his Primarchs and their Space Marines. It had never truly been earned. The genetic code was imprinted into their gene seed, a code which Horus had eagerly removed from himself, his brother Primarchs and his Legion. Now they were free too chose their own paths, their own masters.
Without the guiding hand of the Emperor once offered, the Traitor Legions were now free of restraint. They would never again be damned by the false icon for their methods of war, instead be rewarded by the true deities within the Warp.
'The Warp' the primary source of interstellar travels. Through this miasma of chaos dwell the influencing entities behind the Civil War. These entities had influenced Horus in his quest for conquest against the Emperor. These gods, 'The true gods' would reward the most powerful warriors with their gifts and promise of conquest for killing in their name.
Sharranous had praised the Chaos gods during services from the Chaplains. He had learnt of the gods and the gifts bestowed on his brothers. But he is loyal only to Horus, his Primarch and gene father. It was in his name that he killed.
For thirty days they marched through the hive cities of Terra. Breaking down the barricades and iron curtains in their path, every Loyalist warrior: human or Astarties were killed. The fighting had taken its toll on Squad Savage. It wasn't a matter of demoralization, but an alteration of their character. The Whispered pointed this change to Sharranous and slowly he could see it happening, as if a thin layer of what made them unique was peeling away. Sharranous ignored the observations of his mental counterpart and focused on the fight.
They had pressed into a Garden around the Palace. The size of the park had been big enough to be a city block. Once used as a gathering point and trade spot throughout Terra had now been transformed into a Hell fire jungle. Loyalists of the Imperial Fists Legion stood in the way of the advancing Traitors. The Whisper had ordered Sharranous to halt in his charge. The command was like an impulse as he stopped, a second later the searing lash of an energy beam screamed just meters from his face plate. The heat resonating from the blast had destroyed the optics in his helmet, forcing him to remove the ruined helmet and expose his face to the environment.
He took in the smell of ash and burning promethium, feeling the heat against his face. His cobalt eyes taking in the magnificence of the destruction as he turned to where the Laser strike originated. He charged the Imperial Fist warrior cradling a massive Lascannon in his grip. Sharranous thrust the tip of his chain sword into the soft armor of the enemy's throat. Behind him, more and more of the Traitors stormed the palace, supported by the mighty weapons of the Titans and daemon engines.
The battle had finally reached the palace interior. Bodies of Loyalists and Traitors littered the golden hallways. Interior auto weapons repelled the Traitors as squads of veteran Loyalists flanked the enemy.
They reached the 20th level of the Palace, though they were no where near the throne room or the vital facilities within the towering Palace.
Sharranous had broken from his squad, lost in the battle as he pushed onwards. He relished the moment. Every strike made him laugh with delight, every shot fired from his Bolt Pistol made him sing a curse. He was in his element. Every step he took brought praises to Horus.
"He is dead", interrupted the Whisper.
Sharranous agreed opening, caring little for who heard him. "Of coarse he is, the Emperor knows his death is at hand!"
"No, he teeters at Death's door."
"Good, then I will deliver the death blow myself, for the glory of Horus!"
"Horus is dead.'
"Shut up!" Sharranous howled as he swung the blade of his sword into a Loyalist Astarties. "Horus is invincible!"
"He is dead."
"Silence, do not speak again, parasite! Warmaster Horus is a Primarch, he is invincible!"
The vox bead in Sharranous's ear crackled to life. The powerful voice of 1st Captain barked over the vox ways.
"Attention ground forces, this is Captain Abbadon. Warmaster Horus…Horus is dead." Silence followed for sometime. "We have detected a massive assault force approaching through the Warp. They will arrive in system within twenty hours. We cannot secure the Palace on time, nor hold the planet. By the power invested in my by Warmaster Horus I, 1st Captain Abbadon, of the Sons of Horus now issue this command. All ground forces: Withdraw to extraction points and prepare for transit to the Eye of Terror."
His chain sword slipped from his grip ring against the palace floor. His Bolt Pistol slipped between his fingers, dropping at his side. The world around him went silent as he fell to his knees. His eyes stared into the void of his imagination. He struggled to keep his sanity and his composer afloat, but he was lost to the drowning weight of the reality.
'…Horus is dead.'
His mouth let out a wordless cry as he gave in to the cruel reality that unfolded before him.
Sharranous never heard the recall signal over the Vox net. He had become a kneeling statue on the field. Tears ran down his eye, smearing the ash down his face.
'What are you doing, Lord Savage? You must retreat!'
Sharranous did not bother replying to the whisper. His father was gone, his victorious prize was lost, and his sons were disgraced before the Warmaster's kin. All around, Sharranous could make out the bulking forms of Astarties still fighting. Sons of Horus were butchering their enemies with bloody vigor, hoping too avenge the death of their Primarch. He could make out the form of Kran as his chain axe carved targets left and right. A Veteran warrior from the Imperial Fists appeared behind Kran and sent his power sword through his back. Like a wild animal, Kran roared his defiance as another Veteran warrior buried his Power Sword, to the hilt, through Kran's chest. The rage had faded from Kran's eyes as the warriors withdrew their humming blades and let the body crash to the floor.
'Move you fool! I have invested too much in you, rise and run! I command you, rise and run!'
Sharranous did not reply. His voice was gone and his legs rooted to the floor as the events played out like a movie before him. The Veteran Sergeant who struck behind Kran found him at last. He slowly approached, sheathing his sword and reaching for the Bolt Pistol in his holster. There eyes meet, the Veteran sneered in disgust as he drew out his Bolt Pistol and raised the barrel to Sharranous's forehead.
The planetary retreat was underway. Scores of Thunder hawk gun ships descended to retrieve the survivors. A wall of Traitors held their ground at the various drop sites, holding back the retaliation forces of the Loyalists. The mighty Titans were the first to leave the planet, along with the daemonic engines. The Traitor Astarties and their war machines awaited their retrieval. Scores of Terminators deployed along side the daemonic horrors of chaos to hold back the Loyalist tide.
Tykus Tyler and Clotten made up part of the defensive line with the rest of the 17th Company and remnants of the 1st Company. As one they fired their weapons into the line of approaching Loyalists. Clotten's Heavy Bolter mirrored the roaring rage growing inside him. The thought of retreat was sickening to him.
Clotten's Vox caster growled over the bark of his Heavy Bolter, "Where is the Sergeant?"
"Unknown." Replied Tykus as he took the head off an Imperial Guardsman with a shot of his Bolter.
"Cyrus is missing as well." Voxed Tyler. "He ran into the defenders line with the rest of his ilk."
Clotten loaded a new ammo belt into his chamber and smiled, "Then he is lost to us. Good riddance!" Clotten had never liked the young pup. Prior to the invasion of Terra, Cyrus had become a Space Marine in the 17th Company. Clotten had labeled him as a young and arrogant bastard. He should have died as an initiate, or by Clotten's hands.
"Agreed, leave the wounded behind. We cannot risk losing anymore of our brothers. The enemy fleet will be here any moment." Tykus had taken up position as the squads new commander, with the apparent lose of their Sergeant, he was the eldest of the squad.
Tyler called out and aimed his chain sword to the sky. A squadron of Thunder hawks, bearing the symbol and colors of the Sons of Horus, descended.
Tykus signaled opened his Vox cast to the survivors of the 17th Company. "Seventeenth Company, board the gun ships, lay down suppressing fire. First Company, provide fire support until the seventeenth is away."
Static rings of acknowledgement came from all the surviving members of the 17th and 1st Company.
One by one the gun ships landed atop the ruined remains of the Palace defenses. The surviving war machines waited as their gun ships hovered overhead, latching to the magnetic clamps of the gun ships belly. Scores of the 17th Company ran along the boarding ramps of the gun ships. Some of the warriors were gunned down before they could reach the interior. Others fired in controlled bursts as they ascended.
Tyler was first to board the craft. Running to the back of the transports hold, he sat in the farthest seat in the center left row and pulled the restraints over his head. More and more of the Company filled the seats and pulled at their restraints. Tyler turned his attention to the opening, watching the battle take place outside.
Clotten ascended the boarding ramp firing, Tykus following. Their weapons sprayed the fields of Loyalists who presented themselves as a target.
Tykus voxed the pilot, "Prepare for take off."
An acknowledgement peep followed as Clotten boarded the ship. He placed the daemonic weapon into the magnetic lock next to his seat. Tykus ran inside and slammed his fist into the switch, raising the boarding ramp.
As Tykus went for his seat his hands reached for head. A searing pain screamed in his mind, sending him to his knees.
'You will not leave, Marksman. I forbid it!'
Tykus growled through his teeth, "Who…who are you?"
'I am the voice of your new master, marksman. He is coming, you will let board.'
The pain was excruciating as Tykus tried to stand. "There is no time. We cannot…" A searing pain coarsed throughout his body, the pain was new and unfamiliar. He fell in a wordless cry to the deck of the Thunder hawk.
The voice now echoed with a daemonic tongue, its voice more commanding, 'You…will…obey or you will die. Order the pilot to wait and lower the ramp. Cyrus will be here shortly.'
The pain had subsided as quickly as it had come. Tykus released his head and regained his stance. He felt the hum of the Thunder hawk engines come to life. He turned and went back for the control console of the boarding ramp. The ramp paused from closing and lowered back to the surface.
Clotten glared, "Tykus, what in the Warp are you doing? Close the blasted door, I'm keen on breathing the void."
Tykus voxed to the pilot once more, "Hold our ascent. We have one more coming onboard." There was silence, the engines toned their ignition. "I gave you an order, pilot, we wait! If you defy me, I will throw you out into void!"
He waited…the engines turbines slowed down. The acknowledgement beeped in his ear from the Pilot. Tykus turned to the twenty survivors onboard the Thunder hawk, "Seventeenth, arm yourselves and form a defensive line along the Thunder hawks boarding ramp. We have priority cargo inbound." The warriors looked at one another dumbfounded, but they obeyed their elder brother. Reaching for their weapons they marched in disciplined formation. Clotten, reluctantly, joined Tykus and examined him closely. He watched earlier as Tykus collapsed to the decking. Tykus turned to Clotten and recoiled at the proximity of his brother's visage. The scared scowl of Clotton sent him reeling with disgust.
He regained his composer and met the gaze of the heavy gunner, "What is it?"
The vox box of Clotten growled, "What happened to leaving the weak behind?"
Tykus ignored his brother's query. He leered down, showing Clotten the two century service bolts in his skull. "You will provide covering fire. Is that understood, Clotten?"
Cyrus led his daemonic kinsman Oloth through what was once a garden of the Palace. Bolter fire buzzed through the evening air as he led the Oloth through the charred remains of the garden.
Survivors from the other companies mustered together and gathered the wounded, carrying them back to the drop sites. Without the transportation of their Rhinos and Land Raiders, the Traitors were forced to carry their brothers by any means. Some hefted their battle brothers over one shoulder while firing their weapons at unseen targets. Others had utilized the stretchers from the Loyalist fortifications, ferrying those who were unconscious or incapable of moving. The stretcher which Cyrus and Oloth carried was cradling an unconscious Sergeant Sharranous. From behind, Darloth and Eredon carried a resistant Kran, even with the damage wrought on his twin hearts Kran was surprisingly alive, for the moment. The knowledge of retreat was insulting, Kran had spat through blood soaked teeth at his rescuers, arguing that they should remain behind and continue the Warmaster's campaign. Though, Kran survived off the various organs and glands installed in his body, Kran would eventually die. The Apotocaries aboard the Nobel Brute couldn't save the champion, but they could save the precious gene seed which carried the Primarch's genetic code. Kran's bellowing cry of rage echoes through the air as his saviors carried him back to the drop site.
Through gurgles of his genetic enriched blood Kran howled into an unforgiving world, "Kill them….Kill them….Kill them all….blood….vengeance…kill!" All strength in his body had left him, his glands and organs rerouting his body's functions to support his last few moments.
Eredon tried comforting the berserker, but his words fell on deaf ears, literally. Kran had lost all but his sight and his voice.
Cyrus had wished the fool had gone mute, his ravings were leading more of the Loyalists to their position.
Tykus and the twenty Space Marines scanned the horizon as they warded off the rest of the Loyalists. Members of the 17th Companies remained behind while the rest of the Legion departed. The Thunderhawk Gunships added their supporting fire, sendingr rockets and Bolter roundsmounts sprayed the field
One of the warriors turned to Tykus, barking through the grill of his helmet. "Our ammo is running dry, Brother. We cannot hold out much longer!"
"Keep firing."
"With what?" The warrior was soon shot down. As he crashed to the loading ramp, the Space Marine standing beside the deceased warrior leaned down and exchanged his empty Bolter for the new one.
A warrior brother aimed a gauntlet finger to the right of the team, "There, survivors inbound."
Through the thick clouds of fire came the survivors. Cyrus at the head of the pack, those who did not carry wounded added their support to the fire team. Plasma Guns and Lascannons screamed through the onyx mist and into the attacking Loyalists.
The fire team cleared a path for the survivors as they ran onboard the gun ships. Cyrus and Oloth ran past Tykus and Clotten, securing Sharranous to the far end of the interior. Darloth and Eredon secured Kran at the opposite end, strapping him next to Tyler, who had refused to join the fight. He sat arms crossed over the restraint. As Darloth and Eredon left for their own seats, Tyler looked over at the raving husk Kran. He rolled his eyes and looked back at the Thunder Hawk hatch when he realized Kran would be shouting his bloody babble throughout the trip. Tyler just wanted to leave and be done with this foolish errand. He could fire his Bolt Pistol into Kran and end the annoyance, but the round would puncture through the hull of the gun ship sucking every living thing into the void. Even so, he would have to run all the way from this gun ship to one of the others. No, he will stay…right…here.
"Traitor…coward…worthless whoreson…." Tyler let out an annoyed sigh, ignoring the raving shouts of Kran. He watched as the fourteen members returned, dragging the dead inside the gun ship.
"…kill him…shoot him…destroy the traitor…cut out his heart…burn him…break him…"
The roaring engines were not enough to drown out the ravings of Kran as the Thunder Hawks took to the skies.
The Whisper had been quiet for sometime now. Sharranous, at last, felt relieved that it was gone…and yet, he felt alone. He had lost consciousness after witnessing Cyrus behead the Veteran warrior, that nearly sent a Bolt through his skull. Afterwards he had lost all control and feeling in his body, at first he had thought himself dead. Yet the movie played on before his eyes, but the sound had gone out.
Sharranous sat in the theater chair. The chair had been enlarged to take up the bulk of his power armor, his seat was the only one in the row to be of such mass, yet it was not as foreign as one would expect. A chair of cheap plastic and worn weaved fabrics. His arm rest contained a half empty paper cup of soda laced with water, a black straw and spill cap over the edge. The other held several discarded paper wraps form chocolates and other theater treats.
The central path between the seats was lit up by the miniature lights built into the floor. Worn out patterns in the woven tarp trailed down the theater, bits and chunks of eatable particles littered the floor.
The movie was playing out in khaki colors on a massive projection screen. The repeated clicking of the projector echoed through the darkness of the theater, casting a faint white light between the theater chairs.
Suddenly, a face appeared on the screen, he recognized the youth and called him by name.
"Cyrus?"
A faceless figure turned to Sharranous, a finger held over where its lips would be. "Shh!" it said before turning back to the movie.
He watched as the youth lips moved, but no sound played.
A black screen appeared next, elegant lettered etched across the screen flashed, wreathed in curling lines: "Sergeant…can you hear me…"
Cyrus looked away, his features lost to the outer edges of the monitor. He was calling to someone out of shot. He looked back at the audience and spoke.
"Sergeant…stay with…"
The look of fear etched into the youth's face before the film pulled off the monitor, the reel snapping and popping on the white screen.
The Audience moaned and left the theater. Sharranous watched as the faceless automatons left the room, grumbling to themselves and guiding their smaller replicas out by the hand. He could hear the crunching of food scraps about the floor and fluff of plastic trash bags recoiling from the discarded drinks.
He sat alone, staring at the white screen.
Nothing.
Nothing.
A woman entered the theater. Dressed in a white business outfit she made her way down the aisle and sat on the opposite chair to Sharranous. He turned in her direction: her stature was over weight, yet eloquent. Her white garments were well pressed and exotic, perhaps a figure of great importance. Her face masked by a blue veil as she watched the screen.
She ignored his gaze, "Enjoying the performance?" She spoke.
Sharranous did not reply. Her voice was familiar but it was softer, gentler and refined. Yet it did not carry the ascent of Imperia Gothic, as used widely amongst the Legions and the Imperium. He turned his attention to the back to the blank screen.
The movie projector clicked back to life, the light flickered as the scene played out once again. This time it was viewing a sky bleached in glow of the setting sun which seemed to roll across the screen. Swarms of Bolts flocked through the air like birds in the sky. The charred remains of trees and statuettes reminded Sharranous of the Gardens around the Palace Holy. The scene showed the lower jaw line and barreled chest of Oloth. He was screaming to someone in front of him, but out of shot.
"Are you enjoying the movie, Lord Savage?" Sharranous turned to meet the blue veil of the woman. Here eyes were like glowing emeralds through the veil.
"What did you say?" he asked.
"I asked: Are you enjoying the movie?"
Sharranous lowered his eyes, studying the question. "It is…different." Was all he could say.
"That tells me what you think. How does it make you fell, Lord Savage?"
His scanned the floor, searching for an answer. "I fell…empty."
"Why are you empty?"
"I…I've…I've lost…my purpose. My reason for living is lost."
"How did you lose it, your reason for living I mean?"
"When I learned my Primarch…" he swallowed the lump building in his throat, "…my father had died. He gave my life meaning, purpose." He touched at the symbol at his shoulder, the black eye wreathed in gold. He caressed it forlornly, a tear of red dripped from his eye as he tried to make out the full shape of the insignia. "Now that purpose is gone. My rank, my services even the lives I've taken in his name…has lost all meaning. There is nothing for me." His gaze dropped to his armored hands at his lap, his fingers and thumbs rubbing the tips as though they tried to find a use.
She spoke once more, "So you're dead then?" She appeared beside him. She just appeared there, in the seat next to his.
He looked at her, as though had always been at his side. "Yes…I am dead. And yet…I am watching my life play out like some…performance, a tragic comedy. I yet live to watch my disgrace."
"On the contrary, Lord Savage, you are watching a tale of greatness. This is no tragedy and certainly not a comedy." She leaned closer to him, as though she were a longtime friend, pressing her face to his and pointing at the screen. "See how your brothers risk their lives, to save you. The young warrior valiantly leads the survivors to safety. And look, more of your kinsmen await your arrival. They hail your arrival with weapons screaming into the sky. They part like the sea at your approach."
The movie panned to a row of empty seats, through the support braces he could see one of the seats was occupied. Is was…
"Tyler?"
"Yes…the black sheep of your entourage. He chose to cower and hide while your bravest and noblest brothers awaited your return."
Kran appeared next, his fixation on Tyler spitting noiseless curses.
"Kran…he is alive?"
She was sitting his lap now, her legs stretched across his thigh as she wrapped her arms around his neck. She playfully nuzzled against his face. He showed no reaction to her touch, his every thought fixed on what played out. "Of coarse he is. I admit I never liked him. But, he's more resilient than I thought."
Sharranous chuckled lightly, "Kran was always too stubborn to die."
"Was? Why was? He is too stubborn to die. He may yet live on, if you have the strength."
Sharranous turned his head towards her, "What do you mean?"
She pulled away as her stance took on a more serious posture, "The Astarties that was Sharranous is dead. But he must now make a choice."
She positioned herself on his lap, removing her hat and veil without care. She pressed her body against the surface of his battle armor.
Her eyes were a brilliant emerald green, here face snow white, her lips rose red and her hair made of thousands of tendrils that moved and slithered of independent will. She leaned in closer, holding his head in her hands. Her ink black nails lightly scratched against his flesh as she leaned closer.
"Become my champion, Lord Savage. I will restore what you lost. Say you will." She leaned in and kissed his lips. The act was alien to him, yet pleasure stormed through his genetic makeup like a rush of adrenaline. As she pulled away, he remained motionless in his seat, staring into her eyes as they sparkled in the theater gloom.
"Become my Champion, Lord Savage, and you will be rewarded."
The movie flickered once again and stuck to the image of Space Marines filling the seats and Kran barking at Tyler with malice.
The woman was gone.
No.
She was standing in the center of the theater, the movie projection over head. Her hat and veil pulled over her features once more. At her feet, the miniature lights blinked off one at a time going up the row. The camera ticking ceased and the light flicked off with one final click. The only light source cast by the monitor.
"You will give me what I lost?"
"I will return all, but your father. Your father still lives inside you, with this." She held up her hand in it was the Progenoid Gland, the Gene Seed of all Astarties. From this revered organ resided the genetic code of the Primarchs, their gift to the Legion.
Sharranous looked down at his chest, gazing past the armor and into himself at the Progenoid Gland. He felt…no…he realized, his father was with him all along. He was with all those who served in the Legion. He looked back up and the woman was standing over him. She towered over him as Horus once did on the day he received his promotion. Sharranous, arose from the chair, gazing into the emerald eyes behind the veil.
He went to one knee, kneeling. One arm crossed over his chest and the other weighted to the ground. His eyes shut.
"I will become your champion, in exchange for recovering all which I had lost excluding my Father. For now I know, he resides within me."
She placed a hand to his right cheek. A sizzling, burning sensation ran over where she touched. Sharranous did not cringe. She removed her hand. A tattoo taking the form of a slithering shark formed on the right of his face. The maw of the beast screamed at the edge of his eye while the body and tail snaked across his cheek. His eyes opened, the orb near the tattoo had become a ball black with an emerald slit running across the surface.
"Arise, my Champion."
Sharranous stood to his full height. He looked up into her burning emerald eyes as a smile cut into her face.
A wind came from behind her, casting her garments in a brilliant flow. Yet the wind did not touch the warrior at her feet. "From this point on, Sergeant Sharranous is dead. You are now Lord Savage, Champion of Slanessh."
She vanished.
The movie screen faded to black and Lord Savage was alone.
The travel through the atmosphere was tubules. Flak fire from the surface blossomed through the air. Many of the other legions suffered losses during withdraw.
The warriors within the 17th Company rocked in their restraints as they traveled through the atmosphere.
Kran continually bellowed throughout the trip. This time he addressed the entire crew. Spitting blood soaked curses and insults at everyone.
Tykus: abandoning his brothers to the Loyalists.
Darloth and Eredon: For denying him a worthy death.
Tyler, especially: Refusing to stand by his brothers in their time of need.
Even Clotten: for his defiance of command.
It seemed the only few worthy of praise were Cyrus, Oloth, Sharranous and the dead who rested on the surface.
Tyler finally broke the monotony, "By the Primarch, will somebody shut this marionette off?"
"…whoreson…coward…mutinous dog…Gene trash…"
Tyler kicked Kran across his face, "Shut up! Just shut up and die you damn freak!" He kicked again and again into Kran's skull. Still the berserker insulted him even as his jaw came lose, distorting his speech.
"If my pistol were loaded I'd end your existence now!"
"Tyler…"spoke Tykus, "…be calm. Endure his ranting for a while longer."
"How can I be calm when these two stupid bastards, go and rig this automaton next to my seat." He addressed Darloth and Eredon, who sat at the far opposite end of the Thunder Hawk, as he kicked Kran once more.
The Thunder Hawk kicked as it took flak fire.
Tyler was forced back into his seat, unable to strike at Kran as he continued his ranting, "…cowards…kill them…kill them…rip them out…eat their hearts…mutinous dogs…villains…betrayers…scum…whoresons…bastards…weak willed…frail bugs…"
A new voice broke out amongst the cacophony of the ranting berserker, it was calm and laced with exhaustion. "Kran…"
The deck went silent. Kran was quiet as he lazily turned to the voice at the opposite wall. The warriors in their support straps looked over at the Sergeant who seemed to have a faint smile about his features. "…be quiet, my brother. Save your strength." He fell unconscious.
Now the deck was quiet.
The rumble of the Thunder Hawk became apparent. The rattle of metal and dangling support straps danced to the outside turbulence.
As the Thunder Hawk left Terra's atmosphere, the warriors and Tyler yearned for the sound of Kran's voice to beak the damning silence.
Not a one spoke. None dared.
II
They Morns / Lord Savage / The Impossible World
The fleet of Traitors had begun amassing for their travel through the Warp. Ships of all classifications rallied to their colors. At the fore of the armada was the Vengeful Spirit, flagship of the former Warmaster, now commanded by the 1st Company Captain Abbadon.
At its side was the Grand Cruiser The Nobel Brute, one of the many warships to survive the thirty day assault on Terra, but not unmarred. Second to the Vengeful Spirit infirepower, she was a fast Cruiser. Since the beginning of the rebellion The Nobel Brute had become the 17th Company's flagship to the Sons of Horus.
As her crew made final preparations for traversing the Warp, the last of the invasion forces were landing inside her massive hanger. As the final Thunder Hawk gunship landed, the great void of the Warp ripped open before the fleets. Like tearing flesh the massive Warp entrance ripped into reality, pulling each warship into the swirls of purple and red madness.
The Activity of the docking hold had been like an agitated bee hive, during the 30 day invasion. Bombers, star fighters, drop pods, assault craft and crew serfs all went about their routine. Air craft of all design filled every available spot in the enormous hold. Gang planks and worker platforms crisscrossed over head in a web of steel as serfs and servitors went about their work. Ammunition cars scurried along the metal plating on thick rubber tires. Crazed dreadnoughts and daemonic engines were guided, carefully and fearfully, to their confinement.
But now, the thirty day routine had become a ritual of mourn. Many Astarties slowly descended the boarding ramps of the gun ships. Others had joined together too share their grief. Some had taken to the distant corners and shadows of the hanger too end their grief at the point of a bolter or a combat knife. Others just sat and wept in solitude, surrounded by promethium barrels and ammo crates.
It was then the captain of the 17th Company arrived. Dressed in his Terminator Power Armor, his perfect face echoed the Primarch's likeness. He arrived on a heavy metal stretcher pushed on by his honor guard through the crowds towards the Apothocarium. As the honor guard pushed him past the warriors of the 17th, they could see the impact.
The 21st squad was the last to arrive on the ship. Kran was silent at last, though not dead despite his injuries. Like the former captain, the warriors carried the dying berserker to the Apotocarium.
Sharranous walked with support from Cyrus and Ooloth down the thunder hawk ramp, followed by the rest of its occupants. He pushed himself upright, reliving his escort with a gratuitous nod. He walked amongst the grieving warriors, studying them from a distance. He walked amongst the mourners listening to them praise the Primarch through song, an old custom of their home world. As Sharanous went around the hanger he felt as though the old theater in his mind was still playing out.
His eyes met the kneeling mass of a Space Marine, surrounded by barrels of Promethium. In his quivering hands was a Bolt pistol aiming into his mouth. Sharranous approached the warrior as the barrel passed the warriors teeth. With a firm, agitated, grip he pulled the weapon away from the warrior's mouth.
As he pulled the weapon away, Sharraouns brought his gauntlet into the kneeling warrior's nose. The echo of the power armor crashing into the metal decking brought the eyes of the occupants to their location and the cacophony of mourning had gone silent.
Sharraouns glared down at the warrior, "Where is your Sergeant?" he growled.
"On Terra…he is dead, sir." He spoke through tear soaked lips.
"Then who commands your squad?"
"I…I do. I am the only survivor."
Sharranous' eyes burned with fire as he kicked the warrior in his abdomen, sending him sliding back into the barrels. The impact knocked over the drums spilling Promethium onto the floor and soaking the warrior in the flammable chemicals.
As the warrior curled around his stomach, Sharranous saw an opportunity: Fire the weapon into the promethium and the coward will be a flame. Sharranous expected the Whisper to speak, perhaps to agree or otherwise with the thought. But it was quiet.
Cyrus and Ooloth watched Sharranous clutching the pistol in his hands. Yet the Sergeant only turned around and walked with a purpose through the hanger. Sharranous placed the pistol in his holster and entered the lift leading to the next level of the warship.
His armor rested on the wall, the mount for his helmet was bare after losing the wargear on Terra. His shoulder guards displayed the sigil of the Legion and the Northward Arrow of the Infantry squad.
Sharranous, dressed in his cream colored tabard, sat in his leather chair tightening the Peg of his favorite instrument. This instrument had been a gift from a grateful human whose world was brought to compliance, before the Heresy. The instrument was made of wood etched with artistic patterns of the world it was made. Sharranous had never seen such a delicate artifact it was like a toy in his hands and felt just as brittle in his armored grip. Four strands of varied thickness ran down the neck and over the body of the artifact. With it, was a articulated wand with several strands of animal hair running along the shaft, the strands had been so tight they were like a single strip. The citizen called the device a Violin.
During the time of traversing the Warp in the Reunification Wars, Sharranous took to studying the instrument with great care and attention. He had received the gift after his indoctrination as a Space Marine and on occasion he would play the device in solitude. The music was a treasure for him in passing time. He felt the music was for him and him alone, though it was difficult to hide such symphonies from passer bys. On frequent occasion he would entertain his battle brothers with a symphony he found from pre Imperia records and often musical melodies of his own.
As he stroked the bow across the strings, he closed his eyes and recalled the moment in the movie theater. He tried to recall the face of the woman in his dream, but her features were lost to him. As he played on, he opened his eyes to gaze into the red and purple madness of the Warp just outside his window.
There sitting on an ornate red leather chair that had never been there before was the movie patron. Her face was hidden behind the veil hat and her hands clasped over her lap. Though her appearance in his room was a surprise, Sharranous never stopped playing the music.
"Johann Sebastian Bach." She spoke
Sharranous never took his eyes off her. She was like a silhouette against the warp in his window.
"That's his Violin Concerto in A minor."
"Why are you here?" Sharranous finally said at last, never breaking his play in the melody.
"I'm here to guide you on your journey, Sergeant Sharranous."
"So why not take the Nobel Brute and do so? We are already proceeding to the Eye."
Her response came at close proximity to his ear, as though she was standing beside him, yet she never left her seat. "I cannot participate in such an undertaking, Sergeant Sharranous. This is a task you must do."
Sharranous closed his eyes and came to the end of the Concerto.
"And what am I supposed to do?" He lowered the bow and opened his eyes to meet her, yet she and the red leather chair were gone.
The Violin sank into his lap, the bow resting beside it. His fingers played at the strands along the neck in rhythmic pluck. He glanced down at the instrument as his fingers played with the strings. Then back up at his armor on the display, focusing on the symbol of his legion, the golden eye wreathed in a black. He trailed to the bolt pistol retrieved from the warrior in the hanger, still placed in his holster to replace the one he lost.
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